


Concussion

by taylor_tut



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Gen, Sick Character, Sick Connor, Sickfic, Worried Hank Anderson, gavin reed is not nice but he's not evil, sympathetic gavin reed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-14
Updated: 2018-07-14
Packaged: 2019-06-10 02:33:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,391
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15281658
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/taylor_tut/pseuds/taylor_tut
Summary: Connor sustains a blow to the head, and Gavin is the one who finds out he's hurt. He's not a total utter asshole to Connor because he's in pain and confused.





	Concussion

**Author's Note:**

> I know Gavin is an asshole to Connor, but I think that you have to take into account that he's 100% sure he's not hurting Connor's feelings because Connor doesn't have feelings. I'm not convinced he'd be so blatantly an asshole if Connor were in "pain" or as close to it as I can justify with plot lol.   
> I mean he has other friends at the station, so he's clearly not that much of a dick to everyone. I'm not saying that assholes don't have friends because they definitely do, but those friends are usually other assholes, and some of his friends at the station seem reasonably nice. I think he's ony so overwhelmingly a dick to Connor because there are no consequences and he's not hurting anyone.   
> .........................He'd still be a little an asshole though. Because he isn't NICE. You feel me?  
> This fic works through some of my complicated feelings about Gavin Reed.

A DBH fic I wrote last night when I couldn’t sleep! Trying to figure out how to balance that Gavin is a prick when he thinks it won’t hurt anyone, but that I’m not sure I totally think he’d be such a prick when it will. 

* * *

 

Connor had come back from the investigation in a bad mood because he’d had to shoot his deviant. He’d wanted to question it, find out what it knew, but it had rushed him. According to Hank, the fight had been pretty spectacular, though Connor wasn’t talking about it, both he and the deviant taking a tumble down some stairs before Connor shot it.

After snapping at someone for bumping into him and apologizing with an excuse that it had been a “long day,” Connor was taken off the case. Fowler had said that Connor was held to a higher standard than a human detective would be, with no emotional stake, and that if he couldn’t behave, that he wasn’t rational enough to be working at all. Presently, he was in the break room, sulking alone at a coffee table.

“Hey, asshole,” a voice broke him from his thoughts. He startled with a scowl, opening his eyes to see Gavin standing in front of him.

“Leave me alone, please, Detective Reed,” Connor snapped. “I don’t want to talk.”

Gavin gave an ugly, humorless laugh. “I’m not talking to you for my own enjoyment, you prick,” he accused. “I got assigned your deviant case since you went apeshit on Tina. Like I didn’t have enough to do.”

Connor’s eyes closed once more, one hand at his temple rather than in their usual place in his lap. When he still didn’t speak, Gavin continued.

“So I need you to tell me everything you know about the deviant.”

Connor looked confused. Honest to God confused, and it threw Gavin off just enough.

“Deviant?” Connor asked, sounding irritable and genuine. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Gavin stared at him for a long moment.

“Uh, yeah, the deviant you had a staircase brawl with today,” Gavin said dumbfoundedly. “What the fuck are you pulling?”

Connor winced away from his voice. “Detective, please leave me alone,” he repeated, opening his eyes to meet Gavin’s, whose jaw dropped when he noticed that Connor’s pupils weren’t the same size.

“Fuck me,” Gavin cursed, “the fucking android’s got a concussion.” Hank was going to physically fight him.

Connor covered his face with his hands miserably, his posture stiffer even than normal. “I’m experiencing severe discomfort,” he muttered, and Gavin noticed for the first time how much he was slurring his words, “so if you could kindly go away, it would be appreciated.”

“Why hasn’t Cyberlife come to fix you yet?”

Connor sighed. “I was unable to send a damage report,” he admitted, “and self-diagnostics show no damage.” Maybe his self-diagnostics were busted, but Connor was definitely not undamaged.

“Well,” Gavin rolled his eyes, “that’s a load of bullshit. I’m calling Cyberlife. You’re their problem, anyway.”

As Gavin dialed his cell phone, Connor met his eyes again with his disconcerting pupils. “Where is Lieutenant Anderson?” he asked.

“Talking to Fowler about the case you got taken off,” he said, sounding disinterested. Before Connor could open his mouth to argue, Gavin cut him off. “You probably don’t remember.”

Connor blinked hard a few times, rubbing the palms of his hands into his eyes while Gavin gave one word replies to the automated prompts of Cyberlife’s answering machine system. “I’m having trouble converting short term to long term memory,” he admitted anxiously.

“That’s because you got hit in the head,” Gavin pointed out. His tone was rude and unkind, but he was on hold with Cyberlife, and Connor looked about a minute from panicking and going to interrupt Hank, so he didn’t leave the room quite yet. “It happens,” he explained. “In my second week working here, a deviant droid hit me in the head hard enough to concuss me. Apparently I told everyone who came into my hospital room that they were my best friend, and I puked for three days.”

“‘Apparently?’” Connor echoed.

“I don’t remember that part of it,” Gavin admitted. “But the point is, don’t go freaking out on Hank. Not having a few days information isn’t the end of the world.”

Connor nodded. “Thank you, Detective,” he said, to which Gavin responded by opening the door and talking on the phone.

“Hello, thank you for calling Cyberlife’s customer service line. What model are you looking to service today?” came an automated voice.

“RK800,” Gavin replied, “the model that works for the Detroit Police Department.”

The woman on the other line typed for a moment and then gasped. “Oh, dear,” she exclaimed, “it looks like your android has taken quite a bit of damage. What happened?”

Gavin sighed. “It took a pretty bad blow to the head,” he replied. “We just need someone to come and fix it.”

“An agent will be arriving within the hour,” she reassured. “In the meantime, your RK800 should be kept out of the office, as it may be somewhat volatile until the repairs are made.”

“What, like he’s gonna punch someone in the face?” Gavin asked, shocked. Connor had been bitchy, but not violent.

“Oh, no, likely nothing like that,” she promised. “Likely something much more… internal.”

Gavin paused. “What, like he’s gonna start crying?”

There was a hesitation in the typing on her end. “Android models as new as RK800s are alerted to damage through physical sensation,” she explained awkwardly. “Those sensations are normally disabled within seconds, as soon as the android is aware of the injury and catalogues it for sending the damage report or performing self repairs. Your model appears to be in a state in which that alert is stuck active. It is certainly causing intense discomfort.”

The plastic prick was in fucking pain. Technology was wild.

“Okay,” Gavin said, not sure what else could be said. “Well, that’s all, then.”

“Thank you for calling,” she dismissed, hanging up the phone. Gavin steeled himself to open the door again, having no idea what he’d say to Connor, and when he did, he immediately knew that the rest of this hour was going to be long.

“I’m sorry, Detective,” Connor apologized. He was hunched over the trash can in the corner of the room, as if he’d just gotten sick into it. “I’ll dispose of this before Cyberlife arrives. I was--caught off guard.”

Gavin ran a hand through his hair. “Whatever,” he replied. “Remember I told you I had a concussion my second week here? I puked on Fowler’s shoes.” He offered a wicked half-smile, but Connor didn’t joke back.

“I’ll ensure that neither you nor anyone else in the office comes in contact with any Thirium 310,” Connor promised.

“Thanks, I guess,” Gavin shrugged. Connor straightened up from above the trash can and his knees buckled. Gavin made no move to reach for him, but Connor caught himself on the counter and eased down to the ground, so Gavin sat down in the chair to wait out Cyberlife.

“Where is Lieutenant Anderson?” Connor asked once more.

“I told you; he’s busy,” he repeated tensely. “God, you’re like his fucking puppy.”

But apparently word had gotten around, because within seconds, Hank opened the door looking very displeased.

“Connor?” he questioned, crouching beside him when he saw him on the ground and grimacing when he saw the contents of the trash can. “What happened to you? Are you hurt?”

Connor shook his head. “My self diagnostic scan says there’s no damage--”

“Bullshit,” Hank interrupted, “you’re collapsed on the fuckin’ floor of the break room.” He took Connor’s chin in his hands gently and looked in his eyes at his blown pupils, rotating his head a bit and watching them roll unfocusedly. “Hell, kid,” he muttered. “Your eyes.” He turned a hostile gaze to Gavin, who threw his hands in the air innocently.

“Hey, I found him like this,” he defended.

“I just got a text from Cyberlife saying they’re on their way to make repairs,” he said, turning his attention back to Connor. Gavin stood and beelined straight to the exit.

“Gavin,” Connor called, and he winced. He’d almost made it. “Thank you.”

Gavin made a disgusted noise and pushed out the door.


End file.
